


Mac and Dennis Take Manhattan

by ladyancientcosmos



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emetophobia, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mac is a sweetheart, Recreational Drug Use, Some angst, Swearing, but pls be careful if you're sensitive to any of those things, dennis is a bastard, dennis-typical drug use, i don't think anything is worse than the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-07-10 02:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyancientcosmos/pseuds/ladyancientcosmos
Summary: Set directly after the events of "The Gang Gets Analyzed," Dennis makes some hard realizations about his actions and hatches a plan to fix his relationship with Mac.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sunny fic - not to mention my first time posting a fic in a long time - so please be nice! I think I've included all the potentially triggering warnings in the notes, but feel free to let me know if I need to add something. Like I said, this chapter is kind of angsty, but the fluff will come. The fluff will come. Thanks for reading!

**8:30 AM**

**On a Wednesday**

**Philadelphia, PA**

Dennis Reynolds awoke with a start that morning. He hadn’t had a nightmare, exactly, because he didn’t like the sound of that, but he supposed his dream was unpleasant enough to rouse him from slumber. He had dreamed of quicksand. It was sticky and wet and _heavy_ against his legs, and so unbelievably hot, he felt his breath coming in shorter, quicker bursts until he was gasping. He touched his forehead to find it exactly as he suspected – warm, slick with sweat. His bed had begun to feel as if it was trying to swallow him whole, so he decided a lukewarm shower must be the better option.

He opened the bathroom door, catching a quick glance of his hair matted to his forehead by sweat in the mirror. He ignored it, shed his T-shirt and boxers, and stepped into the shower. The hot water was too oppressive, so he kept it cool, standing with his head bowed underneath the spigot for far too long without thinking about anything at all. After shampooing, rinsing, and repeating, a process which required hot water, the heat pressing uncomfortably against his chest was too much for him. He stepped out, taking a hefty gulp of air, and wrapped a towel around his waist.

The worst part of his morning, not that he would admit it to anyone, ever, was the first look he took at himself in the mirror. He certainly didn’t look his best; nobody does after just waking up, some small part of him tried to rationalize, but it brought him no solace. He flexed his bicep once, twice, three times, pinching the extra skin underneath his arm he had come to despise. He ran his hands down his stomach, turning from side to side to try and conceive of what his body looked like at every angle. The muscles were taut, certainly, and that gave him some small satisfaction, but there was enough of a pouch at the bottom of his belly that he frowned. No breakfast for him, then.

He brushed his teeth quickly, avoiding his own gaze, the dark circles he was sure had collected underneath his eyes. It didn’t matter, he supposed, he had concealer. He had enough concealer to make his entire face disappear. While putting his toothpaste away, an orange pill bottle with his name on it took a swan dive from the mirror cabinet. It rolled off the counter and onto the floor, its contents rattling. He had been meaning to throw them away, flush them down the toilet, chuck them at birds, anything. He didn’t know why he hadn’t yet. Feeling nothing, he reached down for the bottle and replaced it behind his cabinet mirror, closing it and pushing it out of his mind. He would get around to it.

Back in his bedroom, his too-hot-for-some-reason bedroom, he slid on a clean pair of boxers, a new pair of jeans, and a blue plaid button-up that the gang agreed brought out his eyes. He’d started wearing a lot more blue because of that, but not for their approval. Dennis knew his eyes were beautiful, knew _he_ was beautiful. Or had been. Or could be.

He ventured to the kitchen, placed a coffee filter in the machine, and filled it with Folger’s. Black coffee had always served him well as a meal replacement, and it would continue to do so today. He drank two cups as he read the morning paper, ignoring a hungry grumble of protest from his stomach. He was so good at ignoring things. His mind was powerful; of that, he was sure. If he tried hard enough, he could bend reality to his will. If he told himself over and over again that he wasn’t hungry, didn’t need to eat breakfast because a lot of people didn’t eat breakfast, soon the hunger would subside, as would the extra skin on his arms, the small swell of his belly. He smiled to imagine it. _One day,_ he told himself, the same way he’d been doing since he was 14. _Soon._

Dennis fingered through the rest of their mail – bills, mostly. He made mental notes of each due date, hoped he wouldn’t forget them the next time he drank. Something particularly bright and colorful at the bottom of the stack caught his attention, however, and he removed it from the pile, turning it over in his hands. It was designed like a post card, with images of what appeared to be several stage productions printed alongside one another. Actors, costumes, bodies caught in one singular frame of movement, of dancing; he was intrigued. Turning it over, he found words, and a familiar logo – that of _The Lion King_ on Broadway, the golden one that had come to symbolize the show. He didn’t know where he’d seen it before, but he definitely had. It was accompanied by what he assumed were logos for other shows. The post card read –

_Ready to experience Broadway the way you were always meant to?_

_Enjoy all New York City has to offer from the comfort of Novotel in Midtown and receive a special discount on two tickets of the Broadway show of your choosing._

A coupon code sat beneath the text, and Dennis wondered for a moment if this had somehow mistakenly made its way into their mailbox. He moved to throw it away, but something stopped him. He hesitated to look, but the sounds of stirring from Mac’s room confirmed his roommate had awoken. Something like fear twitched in his gut.

Mac wasn’t angry at him, he told himself. Mac said it himself. Nevertheless, he had barely spoken to Dennis since the gang’s disastrous trip to the therapist who’d attempted to diagnose him with something he knew he did not have, something he didn’t even dare name in his mind. Dennis had let it slip that the “size” pills he’d claimed were helping Mac gain muscle mass were simply appetite suppressants, weight loss pills he could buy on the street. Dennis tried to explain to him that he used them too, that they worked, but the disappointment – the betrayal – he’d seen behind Mac’s brown eyes took the weight from his argument. He’d crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling for five hours before he slept that night. Since then, Mac had been distant, far too distant.

In the place where he knew feelings were meant to go, something like guilt began to manifest. He pushed it away.

Mac and Dennis had done plenty of terrible things to each other. They were often on the receiving end of each other’s schemes, each other’s criticisms, even each other’s violent impulses. Through all of it, Mac never faltered. Dennis hoped that meant their bond was strong. It was how they showed affection, after all. It was comfortable for them. Mac pushed; Dennis pulled. Dennis ran; Mac pursued. It was a dance so expertly crafted, so refined after twenty-something years, Dennis thought it could’ve been on Broadway itself.

Lost in his thoughts, Dennis failed to notice Mac emerge from his room and stumble into the kitchen. He didn’t notice him until the refrigerator door opened, and Mac pulled out a gallon of milk and added it to the bowl of cereal he’d poured himself. He closed the fridge door, turning to make the trip back to his room, when something like anxiety spiked up in Dennis’s throat.

“I made coffee if you want some,” he said casually, keeping his eyes elsewhere.

Mac paused at the entrance of his doorway. “No thanks,” he said quietly, stepping in and closing the door behind him. Dennis stared for a long time at the empty space where he’d stood.

* * *

Dennis left for Paddy’s around 11, deciding that if Mac couldn’t even spare him a conversation for breakfast, he could find his own way to work.

Dee was the only one behind the bar when he entered. “What’s up, dickwad?”

Dennis sneered. “I’m not in the mood,” he said darkly.

Dee didn’t bother to stifle a laugh. “Oh, no, why? Are you and your life partner still having problems?”

“Dee, shut up,” Dennis spit. “You dumb bitch, you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I don’t have a life partner.”

“Okay, bro,” she conceded in a mocking tone. “But I know that’s why you’re upset anyway. You forget, I can sense these things.”

Dennis knew that was a lie. Dee felt things all the time, and Dennis didn’t feel anything. He supposed there was some truth to the twin sibling mind link phenomenon, as he was a man of science and science supported that conclusion, but he was absolutely sure Dee could not sense any of his feelings. If he couldn’t sense them most of the time, she certainly couldn’t.

Dennis rounded the bar and cracked open a beer for himself, his first of many for the day. He took several long swigs in succession, savoring the burn, the warmth that tickled down his throat and into his stomach. He tapped his fingers on the bar top, deciding that he needed to be far more inebriated if he was going to make it through this day. He downed the rest of his beer in one quick gulp, coughing a bit and squeezing his brows together. “Ah, shit.”

“Jesus,” Dee said emphatically. “Is it that bad at home?”

“Shut _up_.”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she said, popping the cap off a beer of her own. “I’m just over here trying to give you some sisterly advice, and it takes you five seconds to call me a dumb bitch.”

“I wouldn’t call you a dumb bitch if you didn’t act like one,” Dennis retorted. He snagged another beer from the cooler, popped off the cap, took a long swig. The familiar burn was spreading from his stomach to his arms, his legs, his brain. He needed the fog. “Besides, you act like this isn’t the first thing every single one of us does as soon as we get here. Don’t single me out.”

“Okay, Dennis,” she sighed. “Have it your way.”

* * *

Charlie appeared around noon with Frank in tow, talking loudly and gesturing with just enough energy to piss Dennis off. Something about rats, something about last night’s game of Nightcrawlers, something about cat food and huffing paint and Frank buying a shit ton of crack from their neighbor to try and turn a profit in the back alley. If Dennis was a creature of routine, Charlie was a slave to his. Dennis was four beers in when he finally snapped and told him to be quiet.

“What’s your problem, dude?” Charlie asked, his tone agitated with the faintest hint of concern.

“I don’t _have_ a problem,” Dennis spat back. “I’m just tired of hearing you talk about the same goddamn shit every day. Don’t you ever do anything different?”

“I like my life, man,” Charlie insisted. “Don’t knock it because you don’t like yours right now.”

Dennis clenched his jaw. “What the fuck is that supposed to be mean?”

“Means you’re being even more of an asshole than usual,” Frank added.

“Fuck off,” Dennis retaliated, feeling cornered. Dee, Charlie, and Frank shared a look between the three of them that made his blood boil. Dennis took two more beers from the cooler and decided to smoke a few cigarettes in the back alley to steady himself. It was now 12:30 with no sign of Mac. Dennis bristled at the thought of him skipping work without even bothering to call in and tell them he wasn’t coming. It was irresponsible, and irritating, and made Dennis want to smash his empty beer bottles against the brick wall.

Suddenly, Dennis heard scuffling at the other end of the alley. He turned an empty bottle on its head, ready to use it as a weapon in case someone wanted to try something funny. He inched closer, breath caught in his throat. Soon enough, however, he caught sight of Frank and a bum he’d seen a few times before hanging around the back arguing.

“No, no discounts!” Frank snapped. “This ain’t the farmer’s market, pal. If you want the crack, you buy the crack at my price.”

“Fuck you, man,” the bum said, turning and disappearing into the neighboring alleys as bums were so wont to do around their bar. Frank sighed but shrugged it off just as quickly, making his way back to the bar when he noticed Dennis watching from the alley.

“What are you sulking out here for?” Frank prodded.

“I’m not _sulking_ ,” Dennis nearly groaned. “I needed a goddamn cigarette.”

“Me too,” Frank nodded in agreement. “Crack business ain’t doing too hot. I guess angel dust is the new thing. I can’t keep up.”

Wordlessly, Dennis removed his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and slipped it open, offering one to Frank. Frank accepted gratefully, putting the butt in his mouth and leaning upwards for Dennis to light it. They took long drags together, leaning against the brick wall in silence. Dennis didn’t mind because he liked silence, and he liked it more than listening to Frank scheme. In fact, it was sort of comforting to simply stand with his father and share a smoke. Not that Dennis needed the comfort. Not that he would feel it anyway, if he did.

After a long moment, Frank crushed his cigarette under his foot and turned to Dennis. Smirking, he asked, “Wanna do some crack?”

* * *

Dennis was riding the high, knowing it wouldn’t last long and trying to enjoy it regardless. He and Frank had taken to the back office with a pipe, passing it back and forth in quick succession until the rock burned itself out. Dennis knew the risk he was taking, knew how easily this particular substance clung to him, made him want more, but he figured just one time couldn’t be that bad. After all, he was in control of his mind. He could simply push the desire away. Additionally, it helped to suppress his appetite. Dennis’s stomach had begun to grumble again as lunchtime approached, but smoking made it go away. His fingertips buzzed, and an incredible wave of adrenaline that he actually _felt_ swept over him, and a for a brief flash, Dennis _liked_ feeling. He felt good, he felt strong, and he did not think about Mac.

Mac, who still hadn’t shown up for work. Mac, who hadn’t called to tell anyone he wasn’t going to come. Mac, who seemed to do whatever he could to get on Dennis’s nerves. Dennis clenched both of his shaky hands into fists. No, he wouldn’t let Mac ruin his high. The highs from crack were powerful but brief, and Mac had ruined enough of his day already. All at once, Dennis remembered his nightmare – no, his _unpleasant dream_ , he reminded himself, because Dennis Reynolds didn’t have nightmares – and how frightened he’d been by the feeling of the earth trying to swallow his legs, his body, all of him whole. He shuddered. Deciding immediately that he needed air, he swung his long legs off the office desk, beelining for the front door and ignoring Dee’s questioning. He was so good at ignoring things.

Once outside, he leaned heavily against Paddy’s front wall, blinking in the sunlight and watching all of Philadelphia spin in and out of his blurry vision. It was both pleasant and unpleasant, and he focused so hard on the sign of the fish market across the street that he hardly noticed when Mac stepped into his line of sight.

“Hey,” Mac said, betraying no emotion.

Dennis’s eyes snapped to him immediately, but he had to wait for the fog to clear so he could see him properly. He took several long moments to focus, but Mac’s form was swimming, distorted in his vision. “Hi,” he managed to say back.

“You look like shit,” Mac observed.

Even in his daze, Dennis could feel the one emotion he could pinpoint with absolute certainty begin to bubble in his chest: rage. “Fuck you, dude,” he spat. The two of them hadn’t had a proper conversation in days, and Mac decides to lead by telling him he looks like shit? “You’re late, and you didn’t even call.”

“Didn’t think anyone would care,” Mac replied. “You know, since you left me at home and all.”

Dennis knew his rage well, but something else climbed its way out of the hole where he knew emotions were supposed to go. Something like guilt.

“Whatever, dude,” Mac sighed, pushing past him and into the bar. Paddy’s heavy door swung shut behind him, and once again, Dennis was alone, blinking in the afternoon sun.

He delivered a swift but forceful kick to one of their trashcans, denting it while he swore out loud.

* * *

Dennis’s high was gone as quickly as it came, and his body ached. Now came the part he always liked to forget, the comedown that promised he’d be anxious, panting, paranoid, looking over his shoulder every other minute in search of trouble. And more crack. He thought about asking Frank for a second round but figured he wouldn’t want to dig too deep into his product. That was the number one rule of dealing, he thought. Don’t eat up your own stuff.

Mac had taught him that in high school.

He dug his nails into his arm, willing his mind to wipe itself clean of the entity of Mac. Of course, it was difficult with him being on the other side of the bar, with his voice ringing so loudly in Dennis’s ears as he laughed with Charlie that Dennis wanted to cover them with his hands and cower behind the cooler. He didn’t. He popped the cap off another beer and downed it, wondering if Mac would look over and wonder how many he’d had today. _Seven_ , he thought smugly, _and it’s not even three o’clock._

Dee appeared next to him in a flash, so swiftly he wondered if it was possible that he was already drunk enough to not notice her approach. She was watching him, and it made his skin crawl. “What, Dee?” he snapped.

“Your hands are shaking,” she said pointedly.

Dennis glanced down to find she was, indeed, telling the truth. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, expressing his annoyance with a heavy sigh. It was simply an effect of the comedown, he told himself. Just a physical reaction. “Why don’t you mind your own business?” he growled.

“You need to talk to Mac.” She said it with such surety, such conviction, that Dennis felt a wave of nausea rise from his stomach and circulate through his body. _It’s the comedown_ , he told himself again. _You’re fine._

“Dee, I swear to God –”

“It’s really fucking hard to try and run a business when you two are being like this,” she said, a little more aggravation in her tone. “Plus, you fucked up, Dennis. You did a really shitty thing. You need to apologize.”

Dennis glanced behind her to see if Mac was listening, but his back was to them, his eyes on Charlie as he regaled him with some nonsensical anecdote, Dennis was sure. Mac laughed in spite of it, and Dennis was sure he could pick Mac’s laugh out of a thousand others. After all, he made it happen the most. Not Charlie, not Dee, especially not Frank. Him.

“Are you listening to me?” Dee asked, bringing him back.

“No.”

“God, you are such an _asshole_ ,” Dee said with pure exasperation. “I don’t know how Mac deals with it.”

“Can you please just fuck off, Dee? Please? I don’t need this right now.”

“I don’t care what you need,” Dee shot back. “Look, we do a lot of convoluted shit to each other, but you fucked up really bad. You took it too far.”

Dennis let out one long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Why didn’t anybody understand that he was trying to help Mac? His weight was out of control. He’d been diagnosed with diabetes, for Christ’s sake. He’d lost most of it now, but a good portion of that was due to Dennis’s efforts. “I was trying to help him,” he said quietly, deadly.

“You were drugging him, Dennis. You lied to him about what it was, and you drugged him. That’s fucked up, even for you.” Dee’s eyes on him were unrelenting. He tried not to shrivel under her glare.

“It’s not my fault he overreacted –”

“He didn’t,” Dee cut in. “In fact, I think he underreacted. Because believe me, Dennis, if I found out you were pulling that kind of shit on me, I would’ve come down on you with a vengeance that you would never see coming. I would never forgive you.”

The phrase hit Dennis like a freight train, knocking the wind from his lungs. He gripped the bar with one hand to steady himself. _Never forgive you._ His eyes trailed back to Mac’s form at the end of the bar. Mac hadn’t looked at him once since he’d come back inside; Dennis knew because he’d been watching. _Never forgive you._

Dennis pushed past Dee abruptly, moving quick enough to try desperately to ignore Charlie’s, and surely Mac’s, eyes on his back as he stumbled his way into the men’s bathroom. It was empty, to his relief. He paused at the sink, grabbing the porcelain on either side, willing his hands to be still. Willing his heart to stop pounding in his ear. He met his own gaze in the mirror, saw a bit of fat beneath his chin he was sure he hadn’t noticed this morning, and vomited into the sink.

* * *

Dennis made up an excuse to go home after that. He told Dee he hadn’t slept well, had a headache, just needed to lie down. She didn’t argue for once, thankfully. He grabbed his keys and coat and slipped relatively unnoticed out of Paddy’s. Dee would corroborate the story for him. He didn’t trust her with much, but he knew she would.

He drove home silently, his hands resting uneasily on the steering wheel the whole time. Yes, he’d had seven beers, but he wasn’t drunk. Seven beers weren’t nearly enough to get him drunk anymore. Anyway, he’d thrown up most of them. He could drive just fine. He didn’t turn on the radio because he needed the silence.

When he reached their apartment, it took him a few moments to fit the key properly into the hole; his hands, still shaky, were making it difficult. When he finally succeeded, he entered and collapsed immediately onto the couch, facedown. He remained that way for a long time, hoping that sleep would come eventually. He _was_ exhausted. He could feel exhaustion, at least. He focused hard on it, trying to push himself into unconsciousness, but some other sensation was dancing around the hole in his chest where he knew, for other people, emotions went. Something that felt more and more like guilt.

He could feel the beginnings of a headache rumbling behind his eyes. Could he be hungover already? He had vomited, so he assumed maybe it wasn’t far off to anticipate the hangover would come soon after. He felt like vomiting again, but he had retched until nothing else came up. Nothing else could come up, after all. He was in control. He pulled his knees up into his chest, curling into a ball like he’d done as a child when such sensations would find their way out of the hole. He felt small, felt weak, felt unlike Dennis Reynolds. He wondered if crying would help, but no tears came. He let his body go limp, let his eyes become unfocused. Finally, when he released the tension he’d been holding in his jaw, sleep came.

* * *

Dennis awoke around 8 to find a puddle of drool underneath his cheek. He lifted his head off the couch groggily, rubbing his eyes and the drool from his chin. The sun was setting; they kept the curtains drawn most of the time, but there was a point at dusk where the golden light would slip almost imperceptibly underneath the downturned blinds and create horizontal patterns on the wooden floor. Dennis stared at them, watching specks of dust dance in the air above the patterns. Mac always liked this time of day. They were rarely ever awake to watch the sun rise, so watching it set together was the next best thing.

_Mac_.

Dennis had tried so hard to avoid even thinking his name, but here it came, as easily as any other thought in his head. The edges of the hole in Dennis’s chest ached. He wanted Mac to talk to him. He wanted Mac to understand that Dennis was trying to help. Perhaps he’d gone about it the wrong way, but he was trying to help. As he tried to convince himself of that, however, he heard Dee’s voice in his ear once more: _I would never forgive you._

Dennis rejected that idea. Dee could handle a grudge like that, could keep stoking that fire for years, because she was a Reynolds, like him. Mac was a different story. Mac had always forgiven Dennis; hell, there were plenty of times Mac had ended up apologizing for something Dennis did. It was a testament not only to Dennis’s talent for manipulation, but to Mac’s undying devotion to him. Surely this could not be the breaking point of twenty years of loyalty.

But what if it was?

On a normal day, Dennis had a difficult time placing names on feelings, on identifying emotions for what they were, if there were days he felt them at all. Today, however, he was certain he was feeling something. Something like guilt. Something like regret. Something like missing Mac.

The hole in his chest gaped. If he breathed, he wondered if he would feel the emptiness.

He wanted to wallow, to wish himself back into unconsciousness, but the ache persisted. Eventually, he sat up, deciding that something would have to be done. Dennis would not apologize, but maybe he could make Mac forget about the whole affair. Mac was so easily distracted; Dennis was sure he would change his tune if Dennis dangled something exciting in front of him.

His eyes traveled the length of their apartment. What could he do? He stood, stretching his arms out when suddenly his stomach was growling again, reminding him that he’d skipped dinner too, albeit a bit unintentionally. His vision was a bit hazy, peppered with black dots, and his head swam. Dennis placed a hand on his stomach, feeling it rumble softly against his palm. _Something small_ , he thought. He could give himself that.

He headed to the fridge, scrutinizing what little food they had. Mac wasn’t much for cooking, so they tended to order takeout, if Dennis was feeling like eating that day. Chinese was Mac’s favorite, but they’d taken to ordering from a new Thai place that had opened up recently down a few blocks from their place. Mac rarely left any leftovers in the fridge, but Dennis discovered a carton with about a third of Pad Thai left and decided that was small enough to work for him. He grabbed a beer and the carton and sat at the kitchen table, not bothering to warm it. He dug in with a fork, absentmindedly shoveling the food into his mouth. It was cold, as he expected, but not unpleasant. As he swallowed, he almost relished the feeling of having something inside him, of not being completely empty. But the elation disappeared as quickly as it came. He took a long swig from the beer.

His eyes wandered around the apartment again, searching for an inkling of some olive branch he could offer Mac. No ideas came until his eyes landed on the mail on the table, the brightly colored Broadway post card sticking out from underneath the stack. He removed it, carefully turning it over and over in his hands. Dennis had been to New York City a few times before, but he’d certainly never bothered to see a Broadway show. The first time came when he was 15 years old, and Frank took him and Dee to see the Statue of Liberty. He’d done nothing but smoke the shitty weed Mac had sold him the day before the whole time, but he had to admit the endless line of buildings, the sea of steel, spoke to something in him. He _felt_ something when he gazed upon it, and that was exciting. Dennis was almost completely sure Mac had never been there. Mac’s parents would never have bothered, even if they did have the money, which they certainly did not. Like Charlie, Mac had barely ever left Philly.

Dennis read and reread the coupon code, working out the details of the plan. They could get a hotel in Midtown for the weekend. Walk to the show. Take a boat tour, perhaps. Dennis would pay, obviously, but maybe Mac would realize that meant he wanted to bury the hatchet. That he cared.

It was decided, then. Dennis booked the hotel, ignoring the uneven thump of his heart when he received the confirmation email, and set off to search for the cheapest Broadway tickets he could find. There were several shows he’d never heard of, shows that didn’t interest him in the slightest, so he settled on _The Lion King_ like the post card told him. Mac would like _The Lion King._ All the reviews raved about its spectacle, and if anything, Mac loved a spectacle. Dennis was even more pleased with himself when the coupon code did, in fact, take off twenty percent. He allowed a small smile to come to his lips.

* * *

When Mac returned home shortly after 2 that night, Dennis was waiting for him. He opened the door, tossing his keys in the bowl next to it, face breaking into a yawn only to jump back a little when he realized Dennis was standing directly in front of him.

“Hi,” Dennis said, testing the waters.

Mac’s eyebrows threaded together. “Hi,” he returned. “What are you doing?”

Dennis swallowed hard, becoming acutely aware of how dry his mouth was. He held two printed tickets, plus their hotel reservation, close to his chest. Wordlessly, he handed them to Mac, plastering a delicate, innocent smile on his face. “How would you feel about a trip to New York City?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this took longer than i hoped it would. anyway, it's not super fluffy, but a lil fluffier than the last one. enjoy!

Mac stared at Dennis, expression vacant, mouth slack-jawed, until something clicked behind his eyes. He swallowed, set his jaw, and said with the most carefully crafted grimace on his mouth, “No thanks.”

Dennis blinked back at him once, twice, three times before opening his mouth back up to speak. “No?” he asked, a hint of panic in his voice. “What do you mean, no?”

“Why would I wanna go anywhere with you, dude?” Mac asked, and the words stung Dennis more than he cared to admit. “You’re just gonna, like, be mean to me the whole time.”

“No, you idiot, I –” Dennis gripped the air with his fist, forcing the words back down his throat. “No, no, I didn’t mean that –”

“See!” Mac cried in unison with him. “I told you –”

“No, just listen to me!” Dennis howled, and Mac fell silent. Dennis stifled the anger balling in his chest, swallowed the bile bubbling at the back of his throat. He felt filled to the brim with acid, ready to make one false move, one misstep that would cause the contents of his form to spill over and dissolve everything around him. With his fist still clenched next to him, he replaced the snarl on his lips with something much more casual, the kind of easygoing, charming grin with just enough of a hint of adventure behind it that would make Mac defer. It always had in the past, he assured himself, so why would now be any different? “Listen to me, okay? I booked a hotel room, I bought tickets to a show, I want to take you to New York, okay, buddy?”

Mac’s resentment was melting away, Dennis could tell. He had memorized the meaning of every minute expression change on Mac’s facial repertoire, and the way the creases around his eyes and on his forehead began to ease told him it was working. “But… why?” Mac asked, and for a minute, Dennis didn’t know how to respond.

“Um,” he nearly faltered, “well, look, I mean, Charlie, Frank, and Dee have just really been getting on my case lately, you know? And I-I’m just tired of it, to be honest, I need to get out of Philly for a few days. Plus, I know you haven’t been. And who would I rather take than my sworn blood brother?” 

Mac’s mouth broke into a small grin in spite of himself. Dennis allowed the smile on his own lips some more warmth. “Okay,” Mac said. “But _I_ get to pick the music on the drive. No Bryan Adams. We’re going with Styx.”

“Styx?” Dennis groaned without meaning to.

“Styx or I’m not coming, dude!”

“Fine, fine,” Dennis relented, his body relaxing. “Whatever you want, pal.”

* * *  
  


They awoke at 8am the next morning, hastily loaded the Range Rover with haphazardly packed suitcases, and departed by 9. Dennis hoped Mac would sleep on the drive, considering neither of them had gotten a full eight hours, but he had been buzzing with electric energy as soon as his eyes opened that morning, talking excitedly and moving faster than Dennis had seen him move in months. As soon as they finished packing the car, Mac hopped into the front seat like it was made for him, like he’d done a thousand times before, and Dennis caught himself smiling in his rearview mirror.

“All right, bro,” Mac began, flipping open a black leather CD case Dennis was sure they’d had since 1999 and fingering through the pages until he found the Styx section, “ _The Grand Illusion_ or _Paradise Theatre_?”

“ _Paradise Theatre_ ,” Dennis said with certainty.

“Ugh,” Mac groaned, “that prog rock shit you like.”

“No, bro, you just only like the hits. See, I like to take an artist’s full discography into consideration –” Dennis paused when the vibrations of his cellphone ringing in his pocket made him jump underneath his seat belt. He fumbled his hand to his pocket, grabbing his phone while keeping his groggy eyes on the road.

“Who is it?” Mac asked.

Dennis rolled his eyes at the caller name. “Dee,” he grumbled. Accepting the call, he pressed the phone to his ear. “Aye, Dee, what’s up?”

“Dennis, could you pick up like five cases of limes and take them to the bar tonight? I’ve got this thing with Artemis later –”

“No can do, Sweet Dee,” Dennis interjected, “I’m on my way out of the state. Why don’t you just ask Charlie to do it?”

“Charlie never renewed his driver’s license, remember? Plus, do you think I would ever let that asshole near my car again after what he’s done to it?”

“Look, Dee, I really don’t care about anything you’re saying to me –”

“Goddamnit, Dennis!” she screeched in his ear, so loud he yanked the phone away. “Will you just pick up the goddamn limes?”

“Dee, I’m _leaving_ the _state_.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Mac and I are going to New York,” Dennis said simply. “And frankly, I’m getting real tired of this conversation –”

“Dennis, don’t you dare leave me to run this bar with just Frank and Charlie –”

“ – so I’m gonna hang up now, byeeeeeeee!” Dennis clicked the red End Call button and burst into laughter, with Mac not far behind.

“That dumb bird,” Mac chortled, wiping a fake tear from his eye. For the second time that trip, Dennis caught himself grinning in the mirror.

* * *

Driving into the city made Dennis clench his knuckles around the steering wheel so hard they were bone white and so long they ached when he finally released his grip. He knew parking his car would be nearly impossible in Manhattan, but he’d managed to find one parking garage in midtown on Google that would house the Range Rover for the duration of the trip. The downside, however, was that the flat rate for 24 hours was $800. Dennis had swiped Frank’s credit card for that, and when they made it to the garage without him having killed them in the tumultuous New York City traffic, he heaved a huge sigh of a relief.

The next adventure involved getting their luggage to the hotel on West 52nd Street without Mac stopping every five feet to exclaim amongst a crowd of tourists and New York businessmen that every other building was “the tallest building he’d ever seen.” Dennis hoped Mac’s Philly instincts would kick in, but the lights and the skyscrapers and the throngs of people proved to be too exciting for his inner child. When they finally arrived, Dennis’s breath was heaving in his chest as they paused to rest a moment before the hotel’s revolving door. Silently, Dennis watched as Mac cast his eyes upwards, his pupils a dark enough brown to more pointedly reflect the sunlight on the many thousands of windows. His eyes were wide as if he were in a wondrous trance, and Dennis felt something like warmth begin to pool in the bottom of his stomach.

A passing ambulance siren derailed his train of thought, forcing him to grab his luggage and lead Mac inside. At the front desk, a sweet-faced woman with deep brown skin and long black hair smiled at him, and Dennis smiled back instinctually, leaning on the counter with his familiar air of seduction.

“Checking in?” she asked.

“Yes, name’s Reynolds,” Dennis said coolly. He slid her Frank’s credit card and grinned again as she reached for it, brushing his hand. He turned back to Mac as she typed, who averted his eyes from the situation as if he hadn’t been watching and replaced his slightly disgusted expression with a neutral one. Dennis arched an eyebrow in response.

“All right,” said the woman at the desk, sliding him a packet with two electric room keys. “14th floor, one king size bed with balcony access. Have a great stay, Mr. Reynolds.”

Dennis grabbed the keys and began to thank her when he stopped short. “Wait, did you say _one_ king size bed?”

Her expression clouded with confusion. “Yes, Mr. Reynolds, it says right here on your booking confirmation that you booked one king size bed.”

“That can’t be right, I –” Dennis foundered. “Are there any other rooms with two beds available?”

The woman continued to smile, but the warmth had melted from her voice. “No, sir, I’m sorry, but this is one of our busiest weekends of the year. Broadway auditions are happening and –”

“Lady, no offense,” Mac said, butting in, “but I’m, like, super bored, so, uh, let’s just wrap this up and take the room, okay, Dennis?”

Dennis blinked back at him in surprise. “Okay,” he said simply. “Fine. We’ll take the king size bed.”

  


* * *  
  
  


Their room was mostly beige with stark blue accents: a blue desk chair, blue day bed pillows, and some sort of blue experimental art piece on the wall above the lone king bed. Beyond the bed and desk, two white satin curtains parted to reveal a balcony, and beyond that, a sea of window glass and steel. Mac dropped his luggage and plopped himself down on the bed almost immediately, stretching out his arms and lengths to their fullest length.

“Take your shoes off on the bed,” Dennis snapped. “Are you some sort of monster? Am I going to be parading a monster man through the streets of New York City?”

“No,” Mac sighed, kicking his boots off and sitting back up, “I’m not a monster.”

“Good,” Dennis acknowledged. He set his own suitcase on the bed in front of him, opening the closet and hanging up his – as well as Mac’s – dress clothes, humming. Underneath his clothes, a baggie with eight pre-rolled joints sat squished against his leather bag of colognes, razors, and appetite suppressants. Dennis grabbed the bag almost hungrily, holding it up in front of his face and giving it a small shake to alert Mac to its existence.

“Ohhhh, dude!” he exclaimed, jumping up. “You brought weed?”

“Of course I brought weed,” Dennis nearly scoffed. In truth, he’d been smoking a lot of weed lately; it was something he hadn’t really done since college, but he liked that it calmed him, made him less angry. If the bar stressed him out, he smoked. If Dee nagged him to death about something or other, he lit up in the back office and took long drags until his heartbeat slowed to something like normal. He liked doing it with Mac best; it was a sort of special ritual between them, he supposed, something they did together often, something they’d done together for a very long time. Nothing in Dennis’s life felt half so familiar as firing up a joint with Mac.

They wandered out to the balcony, Dennis leaning against the brick wall of their room while Mac headed to the railing, crossing both his arms and plopping his head down on them like a dreamy teenager. Dennis lit the joint, taking and holding several successful drags between his teeth while they passed it back and forth. When he felt his lungs burning just the right way, he released, blowing a thick, white cloud of smoke out into the air.

“I gotta tell you, Dennis,” Mac began, and Dennis remained impressed that Mac never seemed to cough much no matter what, “this place is amazing. I mean, I thought Philly was like, full of buildings, you know? But this place? _Buildings_. Just buildings out the ass, man.”

“Oh, yeah, I hear ya.”

“And there’s so much shit to do?” he treated his words like a question. “Like, I saw this place that sells rolled up ice cream on the way here. Did you know that you could roll up ice cream?”

“No, I didn’t,” Dennis said simply, following Mac’s gaze out. The breeze ruffled his slightly disheveled curls, and though he wasn’t really cold, Dennis shivered.

“You cold, bro?” Mac asked, but he shook his head. “Are you hungry?”

Dennis shifted uncomfortably. “Are you?”

“I wasn’t until we started smoking, but now I totally am.”

Dennis felt the familiar twinge of hunger in his gut he’d become so good at ignoring, but New York City had some of the best food in the world, after all, and he’d certainly burn the excess calories with the sheer amount of walking they’d be doing. When the joint was good and burned up, Dennis flicked the butt off the balcony, watching it fall three or four stories down until it disappeared from his view. “Yeah, man,” he said, “let’s get some lunch.”

* * *

Lunch had been the plan until Mac discovered that there was, in fact, a very large park in the middle of the island of Manhattan with none other than a zoo at its south entrance. From then on, food was forgotten, and the two of them set off to wander the pathways of the Central Park Zoo, making faces at the animals and scoping out the entrances to enclosures, scaring zookeepers and absconding away with various children’s Dippin’ Dots until the sun was low and golden in the sky. As they made their way out of the park, Dennis pointed out a particular strip of pavement and benches he was sure was the background of a famous scene from _When Harry Met Sally._ Mac hadn’t said anything, only smiled and bashfully lowered his head in response, and Dennis wondered what about that fact could have possibly made him do such a thing.

“Dude, I am _starving_ ,” Mac announced when they were finally back out on the street. The light from the sun was receding quickly, leaving only the artificial light behind to break up the shadows.

“Me too,” Dennis said earnestly, rubbing his stomach.

“What do you say we round up some dinner?”

It was easier said than done, of course, when the next twenty blocks of either direction were packed with more restaurants than the whole of South Philadelphia. Most places they tried had a line outside the door and down the street, none of them with a wait underneath an hour. They finally settled on a small, off-the-grid Italian place only a few blocks from their hotel with only an extra forty-minute wait. By the time they were seated, both of them had grown dangerously grumpy; Dennis supposed it was a side effect of walking so long on an empty stomach, but he was determined not to let it ruin their night. Mac, on the other hand, was perfectly content to whine about every little thing that displeased him, enough so that Dennis was grinding his teeth together when their waiter finally arrived.

He was handsome, Dennis noted, with dark eyes and straight, pearly white teeth. He smiled brightly at Dennis, and Dennis felt a heat creep into his cheeks.

“Hey there,” he nearly purred, “can I get you a drink?”

“Gin and tonic,” came Mac’s voice from the other side of the table, and Dennis glanced at him long enough to notice his deep scowl.

The waiter’s eyes never ventured towards Mac; instead, they traveled down Dennis’s form in a way that made him squirm. “Scotch,” Dennis said, keeping his words to a minimum, though he laid heavily into the eye contact. Mac cleared his throat from across the table. The waiter wrote down ‘scotch’ but made no effort to scribble down Mac’s order, disappearing from the table as soon as he’d come.

“The hell was that,” Mac muttered, twisting his hands in his lap.

“Dude was obviously flirting with me,” Dennis said. “I mean, can you blame him? I look incredible in this shirt. Maybe we could get dinner for free?”

Mac’s eyes did not move, and something like annoyance began to bubble in Dennis’s chest. Why should Mac care if Dennis was getting a little attention from the waiter? It made Dennis feel good, after all; he didn’t _need_ the validation, of course, but he wanted it. Mac knew he wanted it too, knew it made him feel confident. Maybe it made him jealous. Dennis wished he didn’t relish that idea quite so much.

The waiter returned with a hefty glass of scotch for Dennis, but when he placed Mac’s drink down in front of him, Mac took one look at it before proclaiming, “This isn’t what I ordered.”

The waiter turned to him, annoyed at having to do so. “Yes, it’s a vodka tonic.”

“I ordered a gin and tonic, guy,” Mac said, seething just below the surface, “and you would’ve remembered that if you weren’t spending so much time ogling at my friend.”

The waiter turned back to Dennis. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“No.” Dennis said firmly.

“We are _blood brothers,_ dude!” Mac shouted, jabbing a finger at him.

Dennis laughed nervously. “I’m sorry, he’s just a little tired – ”

Mac scoffed. “No, I just want the drink that I ordered. You know, because you’re a waiter, and you’re supposed to bring me what I order, or do I need to take you back to waiter school for a second?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mac,” Dennis said coolly, “let’s not get worked up over an honest mistake, okay?”

“It wasn’t an _honest mistake_ , Dennis,” Mac sneered. “He deliberately gave me the wrong drink to try to show dominance over me. Isn’t that right, waiter guy?”

“Mac, please –”

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to please stop being hostile,” the waiter said in something very near a mocking tone. Dennis could pinpoint the moment a switch was flipped in Mac’s head, and he could do nothing but watch as the scene unfolded.

“ _Hostile_?” Mac laughed out loud. “Okay, buddy,” he said, grabbing his drink and flinging it in the waiter’s face, causing him to squeal out loud as he grasped at his eyes, letting the drink tray clatter to the floor. “How’s that for hostile?”

Several patrons around them gasped, and Dennis’s cries of protest were ignored as Mac continued to threaten the man. When security arrived to escort them out, Dennis knew any chance they had of eating a peaceful dinner was long gone.

* * *

Back in the room, Dennis took off his jacket and hung it up roughly, slamming the closet door behind him. Mac winced from the other side of the room, chewing on his third slice of the dollar pizza they’d resorted to for dinner. The evening’s events had unsettled Dennis in a way he didn’t quite understand, and his appetite evaporated. New York City pizza had far too much grease for him, anyway, and the hunger helped feed his frustration with Mac. Dennis sat on the bed with his back to him, unlacing his shoes, when Mac finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry I ruined dinner, dude,” he said, quiet enough that Dennis could barely hear him from the other side of the bed.

Dennis rolled his eyes, his stomach cramped with hunger. “Yeah, you should be. That was totally uncalled for, man.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you, okay?” Mac said earnestly. “I gave the guy an ocular patdown, and he was throwing up red flags all over the place, man. He could’ve, like, tried to sell you into sex slavery or something.”

“Sex slavery?” Dennis cried, his breath hitching in his throat. He got to his feet, rounding towards Mac. “Mac, do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I was just protecting you!” Mac’s eyes were as round and full as the moon, and Dennis knew he meant it, even if Mac himself didn’t quite understand _why_ he meant it. A thousand different sharp retorts formed and reformed on Dennis’s coiled tongue, but suddenly he thought of Dee, of _I would never forgive you_ , of the broken look in Mac’s eyes when he realized Dennis was drugging him, of quicksand, and swallowed them all. He sat back down, eyes cast away, and sighed in defeat. “I know, Mac,” he said quietly. “Let’s just… go to sleep.”

Mac didn’t hesitate then; he slipped out of his dress clothes, draping them over the computer chair much to Dennis’s chagrin, and cozied up underneath the covers in nothing but one of his muscle shirts and boxers. He was asleep before Dennis even managed to shed the rest of his clothes, snoring softly against the pillow, legs splayed, and arms tucked underneath his head. Dennis shut off the room light, wriggling his way under the covers while being careful not to accidentally intertwine their legs. Even in the darkness, the light from the city outside crept through their blinds, and even from fourteen stories up, Dennis could hear the buzz of activity from the street. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and letting the familiar sounds of a city kiss him goodnight.

When Dennis jolted awake around 4am, the room looked much the same, the outside world still creeping ever closer to what should have been a private moment. He glanced down to find one of Mac’s arms curved around his torso in an unmistakably protective way, and he wondered if he could’ve possibly been moving around enough in his sleep to warrant Mac to reach out and steady him. In any case, Mac’s arm was warm against his chest, and he figured it best not to ask too many questions before the morning came. He snuggled a little closer, letting his eyes drift back shut as the rhythm of Mac’s heartbeat lulled him back to sleep.


End file.
